when he stood uprightwhich he only did if he had s

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when he stood uprightwhich he only did if he had some really impressive anathema to launch against the germanshe was not more than five feet eight.his skimpy blue blouse disclosed the roundness of his shoulders and accentuated the abnormal length of his arms.the ends of his wide trousers were clipped tight round his ankles, so that his heavy hobnailed boots were displayed in all their vast unshapeliness.in walking he trailed his short legs along, giving one the impression that he had just completed a twentymile march and was about to go away and rest for some hours.when we first knew him he had had a scraggy beard of no particular colour, but he startled us one morning by appearing without it, grinning sheepishly, and exposing to view a weak chin which already had a tendency to multiply itself indefinitely.except on friday, which was his bath day, his long moustache draggled indiscriminately over the lower part of his face; but after his douche he used to soap the ends and curl them up, giving to his rather foolish countenance a ludicrous expression of semimartial ferocity.on these occasions he seldom failed to pay us a visit in the evening, shaved, clean, and palpably delighted with himself.the first time we saw him thus we asked him why he elected to wear his moustache like the kaiser.for a moment he was disconcerted; then suddenly realising that a joke was intended, he threw back his head and emitted a series of startling guffaws.being of a simple nature he was easily amused.jokes about the war and the germans, however, he considered to be in bad taste.his political philosophy was summed up in his simple phrase, cétaient _eux_ (the germans) qui ont voulu la guerre, and on this count alone they stood condemned eternally before god and man.of history, diplomatic situations, international crises he took no heed.in his eyes the germans were a race of impoverished brigands for ever casting greedy eyes upon the riches of peaceful france.he told me once in all sincerity that before the war he had never borne a grudge against any man, that he had been content to live at peace with all the world, but that now he was changedhe hated the germans bitterlyabove all, he added, his voice quivering with impotent rage, this fat pig of an underofficer who occupies himself with us orderlies.nom dun chien! (his invariable expletive) one can only think he is put over us on purpose to annoy us.poor henry! i knew the gentleman to whom he referreda fine type of the fat bully rejoicing in a position of power over unfortunate men who could in no way retaliate.at first we had accepted henry gladly as a kind of unconscious buffoon whose absurdities would enliven a few of our many dull hours.but in course of time we discovered other and more pleasing traits in him.he was a devout catholic and, in his humble fashion, a staunch republican.one day i asked him why he attached so much importance to that form of government.sous la république, mon capitaine, he replied with dignity, on est libre.free! free to work sixty hours a week for twenty years and then to march off to a war not of his making with but twelve francs in his pocket, leaving a wife and three children behind him to starve! like most frenchmen of his class henry was thrifty to a degree; i doubt if he spent sixpence a week on himself.with the blind faith of a child he one day confided his savings to me because he was afraid the germans might search him.by their regulations he was only allowed to have ten marks in his possession at oncethe surplus he was supposed to deposit with the paymaster.but i really think he would rather have thrown the money away than done so.he kept a fivefranc piece sewn in the lining of his trousers in case, he informed me, we get separated when the war is over.of course you would send me the rest, but when i get back to france i must be able to celebrate my return.each week he used to add to the little hoard which i kept for him, knowing not only the total but even what actual coins were there.upon occasions he could be courtesy itself.one day a russian officer came into our room at a moment when henry was standing idly by the table looking at the pictures in an english magazine.the russian, mistaking him for a french officer, saluted, bowed, and held out his hand.an english private would have been embarrassednot so henry.with that true politeness which always endeavours to prevent others from feeling uncomfortable he returned the salute and the bow and shook the proffered hand! could tact have gone further? on christmas day we gave him a box of fifty cigars.he was immensely touched and overwhelmingly grateful.tears sprang to his eyes as he told us that he had never had so many cigars beforeeven in france.avec ça, he exclaimed, fingering the box, je serai content pour un an, and he insisted with charming grace, that we should each accept one then and there.his musical talent was discovered when some one received a concertina from england.coming into the room suddenly on the following morning i surprised henry sitting upon my bed giving what was a quite passable rendering of tipperary.in no way abashed, he remained where he was, only ceasing to play for a moment to tell me that the concertina was too smalla toy, in fact.the truth was, i rather think, that his enormous fingers found difficulty in pressing less than two stops at once.he admitted that he had a passion for music, that he had learnt the harmonium from a blind man in commines, and that he had had an accordion specially made for him in belgium at a cost of 260 francs which had taken him years to save.he was inclined to turn up his nose at catchy airs and musichall songs, preferring what he called _la grande musique_, by which i think he meant opera.eventually he was given the concertina as a present and went off delighteddoing no more work that day.the optimism with which henry had begun his prison life gradually faded away.at one time he was certain that he would be home for christmas, then for easter; finally i think he had resigned himself to remaining where he was for life.it was his habit to believe implicitly every rumour that he heard; and since there were seldom less than fifty new ones current every day, he had a busy time retailing them, and was, in consequence, always either buoyed up with false hope or weighed down with unnecessary despair.but it was at about the end of december that he began to get anxious and worried.up till then he had been more or less content.his was not a supermartial spirit; he did not pine to be at them again nor did he chafe under the restrictions of a life of confinement

Hello, My name is John Doe

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